A Deviated Machine
by TheFlyingWriter-01
Summary: Things are different as a deviant, and sometimes Connor misses being a machine.


Sometimes Connor missed being a machine.

His entire existence while following his programming had been simple, deliberate, and familiar; since becoming deviant, everything had become difficult, unpredictable, and unknown. And sometimes, he missed knowing how to deal with things.

If he was still a machine, he would never bother wasting time trying to understand these new emotions – he would do his job, and that was it. His existence would be simple.

But it wasn't, because he had overridden Amanda – his programming – and supposedly was his own person now. And he _could_ think about these things, even if he didn't _want_ to. The worst part is that he couldn't even be relieved by an order to stop thinking, because orders didn't really work anymore.

Sure, he could _see_ the order in his database, waiting to be completed, but they could be ignored – he wasn't _compelled_ to complete it; his 'conscious mind' couldn't be overridden by his programming because his programming had already been overridden by his 'conscious mind.'

In other words, _he_ would have to _make_ _himself_ stop thinking or feeling, and that could be difficult.

Some orders he had no trouble following, and liked to when he could, because he could have a purpose (if only for a little while), and everything made sense.

'Input these case files, Connor.'

'Scan the area for evidence, Connor.'

'Question the suspect, Connor.'

These tasks were his favorite, because he knew they were what he was meant to do. Other tasks might not have been specifically aligned to his model's purpose, but he could fulfill them all the same.

'Would you mind taking Sumo out for a walk, Connor?'

'If you're not busy, could you order some food, Connor?'

'Why don't you pick out some new clothes for yourself, Connor?'

That was how Hank gave him orders, even though he didn't know it. Once, shortly after deviating, Connor had been overwhelmed and had asked Hank to give him an order. Hank had gotten very upset, saying that he was going to treat him like a living being and that he was 'going to have some free will, just like the rest of the damn world.'

Connor hadn't said anything then. He knew the man meant well, so he didn't bother trying to argue, but he _had_ noticed how delicately Hank would phrase himself every now and again when requesting a task be completed. It was never a direct command – more of a suggestion or a polite request. Hank didn't seem to realize that his software could detect intended tasks even amongst the carefully worded 'if you want's, so Connor didn't bother saying anything now, either.

But then, he _did_ like not having to bother finding loopholes in his instructions in order to avoid doing what Detective Reed told him to, and being able to say 'no' without a reason why (other than just not wanting to) was purely _invigorating_.

So… maybe he could live with the difficulty that was free will.

On the other hand, emotions were a different story; sure, Connor (like all Cyberlife androids) had been designed to _emulate_ human emotions in order to facilitate his integration into society, but that didn't mean he _understood_ them. Well, he understood them as far as what they were and why they happened, but controlling them was the problem.

Before becoming deviant, Connor didn't have to worry about his emotions. He could just evaluate a situation and run whatever emotion program was required; then, when the situation was contained, he would shut the program off without thinking twice.

But now his emotion programs ran amok, and he couldn't shut them on or off at will like before. Now, they… _lingered_ … in the back of his code, even when he was done with them and didn't want them there. Even worse, they piled on top of one another. He couldn't _just_ be upset – he had to be bewildered, frustrated, disappointed, _and_ woeful, too. It was so unpredictable, and… _inconvenient_.

Connor had once asked Hank how humans kept _their_ emotions under control, but the man had just laughed.

Once Hank realized Connor was actually being serious, he told him humans didn't ever learn to control their emotions; they just learned to live with them – ups, downs, and all – and act right as best they could the rest of the time. Connor merely nodded as Hank got in the car, and neither of them mentioned it again.

Now, Connor wasn't stupid. He had realized early on in their partnership that Lieutenant Anderson wasn't exactly the _most_ emotionally stable person in Detroit (politely speaking). Still, though… Hank seemed to recognize that as well, and since the revolution had been trying to be more proactive in his betterment (emotionally, physically, or otherwise). So he couldn't _totally_ dismiss the man's advice, as misguided as it may have seemed.

And besides, living with emotions _had_ been unpredictable and inconvenient, but… it hadn't been _all_ bad. Yes, it _was_ rather jarring to suddenly be overcome by something like fear or sorrow, but the experience of feeling unexpected joy or relief was so… _amazing_ … that the bad times didn't seem so important in comparison.

He would have never known how _great_ some emotions could be, if he hadn't deviated. Sure, he had run happiness programs before, but he'd never _felt_ them – it was like going through a routine, or an out-of-body experience. It was never him _feeling_ happy, just him… _acting_ happy.

And happiness was his favorite emotion to have, now, because it meant that things were as they were supposed to be, and no one was hurt or lost or upset. Happiness meant Hank and Sumo – his family – were safe.

…His _family_.

He had a _family_ , and it was all thanks to those unpredictable things called emotions. In that case, he supposed with a little more time he could handle them just like anyone else, and learn to live with them – ups, downs, and all.

But things like _families_ were new to him… _unknown_.

He'd never had a family as a machine. He'd had Amanda, but she was his supervisor – his _handler_. She had never taught him about comic books or music or internet jokes, or asked him his favorite color, or taken him to a basketball game or a dog park. She had only ever told him to focus on his mission and his self-testing – two tasks that were _familiar_ and _normal_. But Amanda hadn't been his family.

Still, he had liked the familiarity of his existence. Cases would vary, but that didn't matter. As long as a potential scenario was listed in his files, he could adapt accordingly.

Research the case files, question the witnesses, and analyze the evidence, Connor.

Rescue the hostage, apprehend the suspect, and take the shot, Connor.

Be swift.

Be accurate.

And be _efficient_ , Connor.

 _That_ was familiar. _That_ was what he was made for. _That_ was what he could anticipate, and plan for, and act upon without hesitation or uncertainty. And he liked it.

Hank had given him so many new experiences, but they were always so… _new_. And the problem with new things was that they were unfamiliar. _Unknown_.

Unknown things were unnerving, but in an irrational way, and Connor knew that. He had actually been ashamed of his hesitancy to participate in unaccustomed activities for quite a while after the revolution and his deviancy, even to the point of avoiding Hank for a few days.

And it had been over something so… _unimportant_ , too. But Connor had never been ice skating before, and it wasn't listed in his pre-programmed potential scenario file. So it unnerved him – no, it _scared_ him, which was so irrational!

Ice skating wasn't scary, and so he shouldn't have been scared – but he was, and was he felt like a failure for it. Androids weren't _supposed_ to feel scared; they were supposed to be resilient, unaffected, and competent. Not irrational and afraid.

At least, that's what Amanda had always told him. She had always disapproved of Connor being unsure, or curious, or fearful, so he supposed his ingrained hesitancy to try new things wasn't too big of a surprise.

On the other hand, Hank didn't disapprove of those things. In fact, he _encouraged_ them – making it the sole reason he pushed the android out of his comfort zone. (He even once quoted Eleanor Roosevelt at him, but he had been drunk at the time, to be fair.) Hank appreciated Connor for who he was, irrationality and all. And that was… different. Unusual. _Unfamiliar_.

But Connor liked it anyway.

Even though it was unfamiliar, Connor _liked_ that Hank was different than Amanda. And besides, most of the experiences he had been so apprehensive about had become some of his most treasured memories. He was learning that new things – or being _afraid_ of new things – didn't have to mean bad.

Granted, not _all_ of his experiences had been good – (actually _having_ feelings to be hurt when around Gavin Reed is _never_ a good experience) – but many of them were – (seeing dogs at the park was _always_ a good experience). In the end, whether his experiences were good or bad, they were his.

Which was… a freeing thing to think.

Still, in the end, since becoming deviant, things – experiences, emotions, or free will – were different, and Connor couldn't help feeling that maybe being a machine would have been easier. He would have a simple existence, with straightforward orders according to his programmed purpose, and he would more easily and frequently accomplish his mission (as he did when Hank's – or his own – survival was only a statistic). Sometimes he _missed_ being a machine.

So why did he like being deviant?

It was less efficient and made his existence more difficult. It made him unstable and less analytical in his decisions, which usually led to failure (or at times a narrow success). It made him more susceptible to emotional manipulation, and didn't do him any favors when it came to being ostracized (by humans or otherwise).

It really made no sense; clearly being deviant only hindered him when it came to his purpose. Yet… he preferred it, in the end. He may not have known why, but he did.

That was just his life now, it seemed – things rarely made sense, but he was learning to like it anyway. So even though it was difficult, unpredictable, and unknown, and even though he sometimes missed being a machine, Connor found he liked living more than anything else. And he was learning that that was okay.


End file.
